Participants:
| Scene Title | That Would Be Enough |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Mateo and Lynette have fallen into a comfortable routine. So, of course, it has to be shaken a little. |
| Date | October 10, 2017 |
The Benchmark Center: Mexico
This afternoon, Lynette's been off on the other side of the campus. The side with addicts and counselors and group therapy. And as usual when she comes back from her appointments, she heads straight for her room. Their room. She doesn't even take her shoes off, she just drops onto the bed like she spent the last hour working out instead of talking. Like she can't stay on her feet another moment. Her hair and her skirt both fan out on the bed and her arm comes up over her eyes.
But she's not sleeping, she's just decompressing. And fighting the urge to ignore everything her therapist just said, which is what her natural instinct is. It isn't an unfamiliar sight in this room. Seeing as it happens about once a week.
And about once a week, Mateo steps into the room with a steaming cup of coffee and some sinfully sugary pastries. Sometimes it's donuts, sometimes it's bear claws, it's whatever was available and hot when he saw her make her way back to their room. He always gives her time before he pushes the door open and brings in the tray, setting it down on the side of the bed.
Today, it's baklava. Apparently someone got adventurous in the kitchens today, making this turkish pastry instead of the usuals.
"Need me to take a few walks around the building first?" he asks this time, a joke on how he tries to give he time to herself every week afterward. Just her and her coffee.
And he brought one for himself, too.
At first, the response is a groan. But then Lynette lifts her arm enough to peek over at him. Him and his goodies. "No," she says eventually. And when she notices the second cup, there's even a hint of a smile. It's only a moment more before she shifts to sit up and gestures to the spot next to her. "You'd be all sweaty then," she adds, making a face to match his joking tone. On a delay, but she gets there.
"You brought coffee," she says, as if she's just as grateful for it this time as she was the first time. Because she is.
"Probably, but you like me when I'm sweaty," Mateo responds with that tone that is both a joke and not all at the same time. Without waiting, he hands over the cup of coffee, taking his spot beside her on the bed. It is warm to the touch, still steaming. And by now he knows exactly how she takes her coffee. This has been a routine for them.
Just as she seemed to thank him every time, almost as if surprised he still did it.
"Rough session?" He always wants to ask, but doesn't want to all at the same time.
Lynette's smile turns crooked at his banter, even as she takes the coffee and wraps her hands around it like her fingers might be cold. "Only if I'm the one getting you there," she says, which is also in that particular tone. She sips her coffee and her eyes close. Because it's perfect. And then her eyes open. Because he's perfect.
"Define rough," she says, dryly. "No more than usual. I never thought I'd mind talking about myself, but I do." Of course, when Lynette talks about herself, she doesn't really mention things that are real. Which is probably why therapy is a struggle. "He's a menace," she adds. Lighthearted. Even though she really does think her therapist is a menace.
"He is," Mateo responds with a grin, remembering his own sessions with the man. To talk about his ability, nothing else. He had a lot more he could have, should have talked about, but that noise in his head was among the most important at this moment. Apparently, his case had been fairly unique. Not many people had something constantly calling out to them in various ways.
Without adding more, he grabs his own coffee cup and sips on it. He takes his dark, without anything added in. Not even sugar. Probably because when he lived out on the desert, he'd been lucky to get coffee at all, much less putting any of the fine things in it. He got used to it.
He's just glad it's hot.
"But now you get coffee and… whatever this is," he gestures to the pastry.
When he agrees, Lynette leans over to rest against him, her smile softer. And she turns a little to kiss his cheek before she sits straight again. To look at the pastry.
"Darling, this is baklava. Where did you get baklava?" And now that she's really seen it, she reaches over for a piece. "It's nuts and honey and delicious." The piece is handed to him, rather than eaten herself, but there's more for her later. "Did you try it? I used to have this at a great little Greek restaurant in LA. Mom and pop place. They were very sweet. Gyro Of The Hour it was called." She adds the last dryly, as if she didn't approve of the wordplay, but endured it for the food.
"Didn't have a lot of that in Argentina, I'm afraid," Mateo responds with a grin as he stops sipping his coffee to take a piece and sample it as well, especially since she seems to be singing it's praises. He likes the name of the place, Gyro of the Hour. Only works for the people who don't read the it gyro. "I feel sorry for the people who didn't know how to pronounce it. They missed a great name."
He leans back, even as he chews on a small bite, nodding that— well— he liked it. "Apparently someone decided to expand their pastry options. Not a bad one, either." Better than some of the ones he'd had in the past, certainly.
"Poor Argentina," Lynette says, as if missing Mediterranean pastries is the worst thing. When he tries it and seems to like it, she smiles wider and gets a piece for herself. "I approve if it's going to bring me more yummy baked goods," she says before she takes a bite. It probably isn't as good as the mom-n-pop, but she smiles around it anyway and shifts a little as if needing to resettle. But really, it's because the baklava is yummy. And without other vices to get in the way, or an exile to content with, or a war to fight, a weakness for sweets has surfaced. "It's unbelievable how something as simple as a little pastry can bring me so much happiness, but it does."
Although, it's probably not just the baklava.
A yummy little pastry. Brought to her in bed after a long, uncomfortable session. And brought by a very good looking man, to add to it. "I like spoiling you," Mateo grins as he watches the joy on her face. It's one of the reasons he kept doing this. If she'd pushed him away and not wanted the gift of coffee and sweet treats, he probably would have stopped. The third time, maybe.
The way he says it carries a sincerity as well. As if he fully intends to keep spoiling her. And he does. Even if he's following her all the way to the United States in it's unstable, post war state.
"And you are going to." Spoil her, that is. Lynette finishes hers off, then takes a drink of her coffee. And she looks over at him. Mere minutes ago, she wanted to sink into a deep sleep and not resurface until someone pricked their finger on a spinning wheel or something and now she feels a sudden, but profound understand for why people in musicals burst out into song and dance periodically.
And it is definitely not just the baklava.
"Javi?" Usually, she calls him Mateo. Sometimes Ruiz if he's in trouble. Terms of endearment are applied seemingly at random. But Javi is a name whispered across pillows, cried out in the dark, sobbed against his chest, and it's the only warning he gets that something unusual is about to happen. "What do you think about getting married?" There's a brief pause before she adds, "To me, obviously. Not just the general idea of the institution of marriage. But this very specific instance." She's rambling. But at least she isn't asking the ceiling for help.
What did he think of marriage? That seems to have come out of nowhere. Mateo was used to Javi, even liked it specifically when she did it. Less so when others had. It seemed different coming from her. Much different. Like him calling her 'Nette when most people would probably go with the first syllable. "I—" he hadn't really thought about it indepth, and if he had, it hadn't been brought up like this. With a half eaten pastry in hand and the taste of it still in his mouth.
And not with her bringing it up in bed, either.
"Is that your way of asking if I wanted to marry you?" he finally responds once he has a few seconds to process. There's that grin coming back, but he still looks stunned under it all. "Cause if you are, then— " he pauses, before saying with a grin he can't contain and giving away his joke, "I'll have to think about it."
Lynette seems to realize that this question came out of nowhere. That he might need a minute. Or, at least, she doesn't seem to think his false start signals anything terrible about to happen. Which is different.
Of course, it isn't like she planned this. Or ever thought about it herself. Which might be obvious, given all the givens.
His eventual reply has Lynette rolling her eyes overdramatically, because he's being difficult. "What? You want me to get down on one knee?" She shakes her head as he goes on and lifts her arm to peer at a nonexistant watch on her wrist. "You have… ten, nine, eight," she says, her own smile broadening as she looks back over at him.
Oh no, a count down. Mateo keeps grinning the whole time, because he just can't help it. "Knee would have been nice. Maybe a ring, flowers, a nice date." All the while she keeps counting down. Seven. Six. Five. He continues to grin cheekily, even as she keeps on counting. Almost as if he knows she knows that he's waiting to the last possible second.
It's almost a game.
Four. Three. Two.
"Yes," he suddenly says, leaning forward to kiss her now that he's said it. "I mean, if you're willing to put up with being married to me." Like that's the downside of the whole thing. She has to be married to him.
She does know, which is why she keeps counting. Because she wants the answer. And now that she's had the idea, she wants this. Games and all.
In the moments between yes and the kiss, Lynette brightens. Her smile, her eyes, her posture even seems to lift as if she might just float away any second. She returns the kiss, herr free hand sliding to the back of his neck while the other holds her coffee in an effort to not spill anything.
"I think I can manage it," she says, "Being married to you." She kisses him again. And a third time before she leans back again. "Sorry I didn't woo you properly," she adds with a crooked smile, "I probably could manage flowers if you want to give me a minute to run down to the gardens."
Part of him had expected her to hit him, but the little game made it so much better. Mateo can't stop grinning even during all the kisses, the talk of wooing and flowers. "I think you've spent the last year wooing me as it is. Flowers aren't necessary," he responds as he leans in for a fifth kiss. No need for more wooing, no need for rings, no need for flowers.
Just her.
But even then when he pulls back he has to joke/ask, "This isn't just to make the paper work to get me to the states easier, is it?"
Maybe he wants to see if she'll smack him lightly.
"Is that what I've been doing? Well," Lynette says, between kisses, "I am very thorough." And really, she could stay right there and kiss him maybe forever, but his joke makes her lean back to narrow her eyes at him. But she doesn't smack him, what she does do it stand up, dancing a couple steps back from him, "I could still take it back, you know. Maybe make you woo me for a year."
The fact that she's stil grinning probably means she won't, though.
"Here I am, pouring my heart out," she says, her hand moving to her hip. She would use both, but she forgot to actually put her mug down.
On that cue, Mateo puts his cup down, takes hers and puts that down, and then steps closer again to kiss her a sixth time. It had been a joke, but really, it will make the paper work to allow him to stay much easier. When that kiss stops, he pulls back, just enough to speak, his forehead resting against hers, their noses bumping, "How about— we just woo each other for the rest of our lives. Cause that sounds like a good plan to me."
Every day, forever.
Maybe to him that's what marriage should be, anyway.